


Petrichor

by whalebone



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Food, Jedha, M/M, Pre-Canon, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23269222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalebone/pseuds/whalebone
Summary: The annual rains have passed through Jedha, and it's a time of celebration.
Relationships: Chirrut Îmwe/Baze Malbus
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35
Collections: All The Nice Things Flash Exchange 2020





	Petrichor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inquisitor_tohru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitor_tohru/gifts).



Chirrut knew what day it was the instant he woke up. He lay perfectly still, listening. All he could hear, for the first time in what felt like weeks, was Baze’s deep, sleep-heavy breathing. He sat up and swung his legs from the bed, the flagged-stone floor a familiar shock of cold against his bare feet, but as he felt his way through their small room to the window he felt sunlight against his skin. 

When he pushed the window open, he knew he had been right: the air smelled fresh and clean, the ozone scent of dirt after rain. A memory surged in Chirrut’s mind, of this same day in another year, before his eyes had failed; lemony morning light washing over the Temple and the sprawl of the Holy City beyond its walls, turning its dull browns all shades of gold and bronze. The endless sky above had shone clean and blue, like purest kyber. 

A grin unfurled across Chirrut’s face. The Force-blessed rains had come and gone, and the Holy City had been renewed. That meant only one thing.

“Baze!” he whirled away from the window and, in only two strides, launched himself onto their small bed. Baze groaned and grumbled, then yelped as Chirrut buried cold fingers under the covers to poke at his sides. “Baze, come _on_.”

“Why?” Baze complained, his voice thick with sleep. “The bell’s not even gone. I’ve been doing dawn prayers _all week_.”

Chirrut clicked his tongue impatiently. “I seem to recall that you volunteered for that, dearest. Come on, get up.”

“I ask again: why?” Baze rolled himself up in the covers again. Chirrut sprawled on top of him, and managed to stick his nose in the warm spot just below Baze’s ear, making him curse. 

“Language, Master Malbus,” he teased, though of course they were both two _duan_ away from earning that title. “And to answer your question I say: listen.”

Another grumble. “It’s hard to listen when you’re yammering away like a blubberbird.” 

Chirrut had to concede the point - not that he would admit it - and kept quiet for a few moments. Though he did let himself nuzzle at the soft skin below Baze’s ear. 

Then: “The rain. It’s stopped.”

“Finally he gets there! You are meant to be the clever one, you realise.”

The lump that was Baze began to move, and he shoved Chirrut off him so he could sit up. Chirrut rolled neatly onto his knees, and promptly crawled into Baze’s lap instead, winding his arms around his neck. Baze smelled of sleep, and old books, and soap. Chirrut ducked his head to kiss him, and Baze turned to meet him, his lips soft and dry.

“Renewal Day,” said Baze, all grumbles forgotten, his warm voice rumbling in his chest. “At last!”

The rains were a cause for celebration on Jedha, dry and inhospitable as most of their moon was, but the rains were so torrential that most citizens had to take shelter for the duration. The Temple took in those who needed it, and collected alms to repair the parts of the city that would be damaged or destroyed by the deluge of water. But _after_ the rains, in that brief, glorious period where crops would grow, and everybody could drink their fill, that was Chirrut’s favourite time of year.

Chirrut kissed him again. “Come on,” he said urgently. “Get up, get dressed. Everything will be starting soon!”

* * *

By the time they had dressed and hurried downstairs, the Temple’s bells were ringing out across the city. Not the usual sedate toll marking the morning prayers, but a wild clamour of celebration, calling the people of Nijedha out into the streets. On this day, prayers wouldn’t be quiet contemplation in the meditation halls of the Temple, or solemn chants led by one of the senior acolytes. No, today the prayers would be a celebration, a thanks to the Force for the gift of the renewing rains.

“Hurry up, you two!” Aadika called as Chirrut and Baze hurried into the main courtyard. “Even the kids are faster than you!”

“Don’t blame me,” Chirrut retorted. “Baze was slower than a Pakithhip this morning.”

He dodged aside with a grin, knowing that Baze would shove at him, and Aadika laughed. “Ah,” the Zabrak said, in a lightly mocking tone. “Your love is so sweet.”

“Isn’t it just,” muttered Baze, dry as the sand wastes.

The marketplace was already bustling, the air full of laughter, people calling greetings to one another. Wood creaked as stallholders re-opened their shuttered carts, and canvas awnings snapped in the morning breeze. Oils were sizzling in pots, and soon the clear air was full of delicious smells. 

“The Force is with us!” people exclaimed to one another. “The Force has provided!”

The Force pulsed and shimmered in Chirrut’s mind. A glow that flowed from the hearts and minds of everybody who had gathered to meet and celebrate and connect. And Baze was the strongest glow, a steady, warm light at Chirrut’s side, the Force moving around him in waves of kindness and strength and love. Chirrut’s heart swelled to fill his chest, pressing on his lungs.

It took them some time to cross the marketplace, as the local people kept stopping them for conversation and for blessings. Some people brought out musical instruments, drums and slitherhorns and Jedhan erhu, and Master Ji’ta, who had a strong voice, began the Song of the Rains. It was one of the more cheerful songs of the Temple, and the beat was soon taken up by many others.

Baze caught Chirrut’s hand. “Let’s find some food.”

“Scared that Master Ji’ta will make you sing?” Chirrut teased. Baze had a lovely singing voice but was always too shy to use it. 

“No. I’m worried that _you_ will decide to sing, and that you will bring the rains back.”

“The rains would return to bask in the wonder of my voice.”

“To weep in pain, you mean.”

Chirrut laughed, and let Baze lead him towards the food stalls. The clean, fresh smell of the early morning was long gone now, overcome by the usual market smells of oil, spices, fragrant fruits and rich, sizzling meats. Chirrut’s stomach growled audibly.

The stall holder, a cheerful Rodian, hailed them enthusiastically. “My young friends! May the Force of others be with you. You after some of my nuna legs, hm?”

“May the Force of others be with you, also! And of course.” Chirrut leaned his elbows on the countertop, directing his grin in the direction of the Rodian’s voice. “They’re Baze’s favourite after all.”

“I remember, I remember!”

Baze took the tray of food and the two of them sat on the steps to the Temple to eat, shoulders pressed together. The nuna legs were spicy, fragrant, the meat deliciously tender. 

“Did you know, this is our fifteenth Renewal Day together?” Baze asked, settling the tray on his lap.

“Is it really?” Chirrut cast his mind back, to their first shared Renewal Day as children, when they had played sheg-knuckles with some of the city children. “So it is.”

“And somehow I am still putting up with you.” 

Chirrut made a noise of mock outrage, and kicked Baze in the shin. Baze yelped and kicked him back, before they settled back to eating. After two weeks of rice, porridge, and nutrient bars, the rich spices were heavenly.

“I bet,” Chirrut said, his mouth half full, “that by the next Renewal Day we’ll be Guardians.”

Baze snorted. “In a year? Course not.”

“We will. I bet you.”

“Bet me what?”

“Hmmm.” Chirrut tore another strip off a nuna leg. “If we’re not Guardians by next Renewal Day, I’ll do anything you like, for an entire day.”

A thoughtful pause. “Anything I like?”

“Mm hm. Let your imagination run wild.”

“This feels like something that will vastly benefit you, as well.”

Chirrut grinned, leaning harder into Baze’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’d have no complaints.”

There was amusement in Baze’s voice. “And if, somehow, we _are_ Guardians by next Renewal Day?”

“I suppose it would go the other way, and you’d have to do what I like. For an entire day.”

Baze snorted. “That doesn’t sound too different to most of my days.” He took Chirrut’s hand and lifted it, pressing a kiss to his palm, and then gently to each fingertip. “Alright, I accept your bet.”

“Excellent.” Chirrut turned towards Baze and reached for him, touching his face, tracing the shape of his prominent ears and down his jaw. Baze leaned forward and kissed him, and Chirrut could taste warm spice on his lips. “I’m sure you won’t regret it, Master Malbus.”

There was a smile on Baze’s lips as he kissed Chirrut again. “I’m sure I won’t, Master Îmwe.”


End file.
